After Years of Saying ‘No,’ I Finally Gave in and Got a Damn Dog

On the cusp of an empty nest, our writer dealt with her anticipatory grief in a way that she never expected.

When my son Soren started high school in the fall, a quiet fell over our house. Not that delicious stillness when you finally wrestle a toddler down for the night or the I’m-off-the-clock hush when your kid is at a sleepover. Nope, this wasn’t a temporary lull, but a preview of the path ahead. It hit me quite unexpectedly with a wallop of what I can only describe as…grief.

It was a front-loaded sadness of being able to clearly picture his empty (and eerily tidy) room just a few short years from now when he’s college bound. Am I being dramatic? Yes, a bit. Is preemptive grief even a thing? Also yes, and it’s called anticipatory or preparatory grief, as defined by German-American psychiatrist Erich Lindemann as a feeling of grief before an impending loss (according to a 1944 analysis published in the American Journal of Psychiatry).

At 14, my stretched out boy (he shot to 5’10” in a matter of months) isn’t gone, but he is up at 6:45 a.m. and dressed in full school uniform—button down shirt, tie, V-neck sweater, and khaki pants—like an intern at a law firm. He hustles down the stoop of our Brooklyn home at 7:15 to catch a subway to Manhattan, weighed down by a backpack on his chest and a sports bag on his back like a double-shelled urban turtle. His hours after school are filled with cross country or track or lacrosse practice. He often returns at dusk. 

He’s short on details and long on eye rolls. He’s flexing independence and holding this newly expanded world close to the V-neck sweater. It’s totally normal and everything I hoped for him, but still, it’s a bittersweet moment of watching him grow up and away. He no longer needs us in the same way as he did, even six months ago. My husband Todd feels it, too. 

Loss makes people do weird things, and I’m no stranger to reckless grieving. I’ve chain smoked my way through deaths. Sought the comfort of middling hookups over much needed sleep (or nights home alone) to distract from breakups. Anesthetized with alcohol. Entertained plans to outrun sorrow by moving to Japan. 

As this shift slowly took place within our family, I felt that familiar fog of grief creeping in, along with a tug to do something kinda heedless (but, I too, reluctantly gave up smoking years ago). That’s it, I thought: We’re getting a damn dog. 

I had resisted the urge when, at age 4, Soren waged the sweetest campaign for a dog with a series of stick figure drawings rendered in thick Crayola marker. There was one of our family with wide grins walking a dog and another depicting Soren in bed asleep but smiling, a dream bubble floating above his head with a dog in it. Let’s dog sit instead, I said. We dodged the pandemic’s doodle mania craze, doubling down on a second…and then a third hamster. Soren had resigned himself to the fact that a dog wasn’t going to happen, and Todd and I were convinced that after holding out this long, we just weren’t dog people. I don’t experience the magnetic pull to stop for every tongue lolling lab or peppy pug on my way to the park. If I know the human I’ll acknowledge their dog, of course (I’m not a sociopath!), but I’m the least likely to carry a “Tell your dog I said hi” tote bag. 

Yet, there I was low-key trotting out the desire to maybe…possibly…finally… welcome a dog to the family. We consulted with our veterinarian friend and the only red flag she raised was: You’re in the home stretch of having a calm, come-and-go-as-you-please, lower-responsibility life—do you really want to add a dog to the mix now? Perhaps it was the low-level grief talking but yes, I did. I craved distraction, maybe some chaos, but above all, I definitely needed to still be needed. 

My dog-people friends had been waiting for the moment for us to join their kind, and they were ecstatic. We knew we weren’t up for training a puppy (second floor walk up, no yard, my waning patience as I age) but interested in an older dog. Also, we weren’t particular (or precious) about breed and definitely set on a rescue dog in need of a home (according to the ASPCA there were 5.8 million dogs and cats in shelters in 2024). Friends helpfully began pebbling me with links for no-kill Korean dog rescues, Puerto Rican dog rescues, Southern dog rescues, and more, making research a breeze. 

We went with a New York-based group, Stray from the Heart (who can resist a Bryan Adams song pun?), that’s been saving and rehabilitating street dogs for three decades. After many conversations with the organization’s dedicated founder (that left Todd teary) and chats with dog people who had adopted through the agency, we were convinced we were ready. 

Over the next few weeks, I’d share with Todd and Soren my favorite profiles of handsome, friendly, playful, shy, sweet pups in need of loving homes. This time the campaign worked on all of us and we ended up with a 4-year-old, doxy mix from Puerto Rico who had likely made most people swipe left on him before us. He had missing teeth, a leaky eye, one floating rib, and a stump for a tail and his name was… wait for it… Jeremy. He had lived a life on the streets, was rough around the edges, not a cuddly puppy, and that name—which we were expressly told not to change—had us cracking up. We loved that he seemed like a total character. 

Jeremy and another rescue pup, Paloma, were crated and flown in cargo from Puerto Rico to Miami and finally to John F. Kennedy Airport. When we met them at the Priority Parcel pick up location, Paloma popped from her cargo crate and leapt into the arms of her new dog parent like a scene from a heartwarming Disney production. Jeremy, however, was an anxious, suspect, bundle of nerves. And can you blame him? He arrived on Nov. 6, 2024, the day after the 2025 presidential election (could he be designated as an emotional support animal?). But also, did we make a mistake? Were we really up to this?

We were aware that a stray with a largely unknown past would have some unique needs, but we were committed. Once home, it took a full 24-hours to coax him outside to even inch down the block to finally relieve himself. We carried him up and down the stairs for a week. We kept vigil by his dog bed (initially placed in a cozy spot in the living room so he could take in this strange, new environment) until he felt comfortable enough to sniff around the other rooms in our apartment. When he eventually added one, then two blocks on his walks we were so proud of our scrappy, resilient mutt. It took a full month before we heard him bark. My 4-year-old nephew offered the wisest observation when he said that Jeremy was still “cracking out of his egg.” Aren’t we all, really? 

We’re six months in on this dog thing and still getting to know Jeremy, but he’s mostly a wiggly, furry, unifying point of connection, even if still anxious at times. Pros: he’s house trained, has a good appetite, isn’t a licker, doesn’t jump on furniture or people. Cons: He is triggered by larger, fluffy dogs (and there are a lot of those around), barks at the door buzzer, sometimes greets other dogs with an assertive growl. We’ve met with a trainer, but we’ve got work to do. 

Overall, this addition has brought a sense of play and energy to the house that I’d feared we’d lost at an intense time of change for our family—we needed some comic relief. He has Todd up early for walks, even in the cold. Two days a week Todd and I stroll up to Prospect Park together (I’m a runner, he’s a biker so we’re in the park often, just not together) for off-leash hours. We’re both on Jeremy’s must-sniff-everything schedule, taking in neighborhood details we’d never slowed down enough to notice over the years. When Soren comes in from his packed day, he’ll drop to the floor and wrestle with Jeremy, toss toys from him to chase, or just sit and administer hearty rubs that appear comforting for both of them. This dog easily pulls out the playful kid in Soren that’s still so close to the surface, but kept hidden from the outside world right now.

As for me, am I a dog person? I’m still not sure, but tell your dog that Jeremy and I said hi (just don’t put it on blast on a tote—yet).

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